


Dreaming Behind My Eyelids

by RainbowPools



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Atsumu and Suna are thirsty hoes, Bartender Komori Motoya, But consent is sexy, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gen, Intercrural Sex, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Making Out, Mind the Tags, Miya Osamu is a very hard worker, Multi, Musician Suna Rintarou, My excuse to put him in a suit and gloves, Questionable self-esteem levels, Referenced Sexual Trauma, Rimming, Romance, Sakusa works at a lounge, Semi does massage, Smoking, Smut, So does Shirabu, Stress, Tattoo artist Miya Atsumu, a little bit of hurt/comfort, happy endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowPools/pseuds/RainbowPools
Summary: All Suna, a guitarist and college drop out, needs, is some variety, someone to carry him to a place where he doesn’t have to dream because his desires become a reality. Osamu and his amazing arms aren’t interested. Apparently he’d rather nurse an Onigiri shop than babysit objectively gorgeous, laze-about brunettes with peculiar eyes and a mysterious backstory. Nope, Osamu isn’t interested at all.Miya Atsumu, blonde with a bod. Status? Philandering and single. But, my, the curly haired assistant at the lounge sure is a snack. Now if only he’d spare Atsumu a chance to get to know him. Sakusa however, rude with attitude, would sooner swallow a bottle of spiders than entertain some manic ink peasant with a deplorable taste in hair dye.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran, Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou, Suna Rintarou & Everyone
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67





	1. A Sizzling Ball of Glory in My Otherwise Empty Purple Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suna goes to the bar and finds an opportunity to reintroduce color into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! :)  
> You doing all right? Hope so. Here’s my contribution to a ship that deserves all the love in the world, cause my simping for Osamu has at this point become an unholy disease, and I’m hoping this project will soothe it.  
> Enjoy!

A groan fell past his lips as he slipped, more of jolted, back into the waking world or reality. Reality. Hard, unending, dull, monochrome and soundless. Or at least, that’s how it had become to Suna. He wasn’t sure _when_ he had let it slide away, the life he once saw in everything around him, but it was in fact, a gradual change. It was too minor, too finite, too minuscule to pick out. It could’ve happened yesterday, or it could’ve happened a decade ago. He raised his head, eyes not yet fully open - not that they ever were - and shook out the ebon hair that curtained around his face. God he felt disgusting. Hands bracing on the edge of the desk, he made to sit. Yes, he had been prepared for the way his wooden board of a back would screech, and no, it hadn’t made the pain any less bearable. Too many years of slouching, hunching against the wall, and falling asleep in creaky warn down chairs would do that to a person. Fully conscious of this, Suna would not soon change his habits, either. They died hard after all, and one had to have the motivation to kill them. The only thing Suna could kill was time, and he had enough motivation to eat toast at twelve p.m. and play guitar, but nothing beyond that. He stretched his arms above his head with a yawn, pale green eyes taking in the contents of his studio apartment. He would’ve panicked at the hues of pinks and oranges spilling through the windows had he not been accustom to it. He rolled his eyes. So he had fallen asleep songwriting once more, substantiated by the drool staining his paper. Great. Good thing Semi was on songwriting duty this month, because Suna’s ability to conceptualize right now was severely compromised. Another sweeping gaze around his apartment room. A change of scenery. That would help. He was bored out of his mind. Suna had passion for few things, but his band was quite fortunately one of them. If there was any place he wanted to exceed in, it was there. The struggle to be creative now was physically taxing however, and a bit of excitement was just the thing to ameliorate his artist’s block blues. 

It took him two hours to actually leave the apartment. What? He had a tendency to doze in the shower, always debated with his reflection whether or not to add color to his lips, and was an absolute perfectionist when it came to how he applied his eyeliner. There was a very specific dead, but not too dead to flirt, message he wanted to convey in just his wing. So it was around nine by the time he was sliding in his crimson earrings and drifting down six flights of stairs to get outside the complex. He didn’t bother getting his car. He didn’t plan on coming back home anyways, something Semi would scold him for, something Tanaka would laugh at him for, something Kuroo would talk about him for. The night was blissfully cool, a comfort to the barrage of heat waves they had been having. So, with his phone in his pocket, earbuds jammed in, and key weapon pinned to his shirt, Suna wove through illuminated buildings and bustling streets. It was a big city, but he knew his way to False Aphrodisiacs better than he knew music sheets. In other words, he hardly knew the way. His getting lost to successful transport ratio was about three to five. He didn’t know music sheets very well, then. And well, why should he? He didn’t have to know what a whole note looked like on paper in order to catch its beat in a song, thank you very much. But, he probably _should_ know the way to the bar he’s been frequenting every week by now. Ah well, being disappointingly unskilled at life was a whole lot easier than being competent anyways.

* * *

False Aphrodisiacs was named on the grounds that it made wonderful drinks, but wasn’t the most inspiring place to get laid. Suna found that quite hilarious, considering how many hookups he had witnessed in just one night. He made it there with a questionable degree of success, getting turned around enough times so that his twenty minute walk was turned into a forty minute one, and it was closer to ten by the time he stepped into the bar. The earbuds came out, now stuffed in his pocket as he made his way to the bar counter and sat at one of the high stools, elbows propped on the countertop and bag swaying at his waist. 

“Hey there,” bartender greeted him first, the smile on his face bright even through the dimness of the bar. “You don’t usually come by on Fridays.”

“I know,” Suna pillowed his chin in his hands, tapping his heels on the stool. “I needed a change of scenery.”

“So tell me, what kind of day is today?” Bartender dragged his hand through his shaggy brown hair, “You wanna talk? Have fun? Or get laid?”

“Hopefully door number three,” Suna replied with a lazy wave of his wrist. 

“Oooooohhhhhhh,” another bright smile, this one unbelievably insufferable, reaching his eyes. Sparkly, blue, half-lidded and flicked with soft, fluttery lashes. Komori Motoya, as good with drinks as he was with people. Favorite color? Cheerful. Favorite outfit? Mischief. Though, the scarlet button-down and black jeans required of bartenders here did suit him well. “What’s the occasion, Rin?” he asked, as though Suna wanting to have sex was any new thing. He prepped Suna’s cocktail based on whatever mood he was in. Suna being horny always called for something extra sweet, playful. Something cherry with a Caruva Horchata cream liqueur should do it. 

“No occasion,” Suna shook his head, “Just bored, really bored, and uninspired.” 

“Ahhh,” Komori hummed over the shaker, voice heard even over the obnoxious clink clink clink of ice. Suna tilted his head, watching Komori perform his cup tricks. He’d never get tired of seeing them. Already the day’s fatigue, the evening’s irritation, began to ease away and he felt not of this earth, etherial and okay. It was the subdued version of what he felt when he performed, or when he smoked. 

“What’d you do today?” Komori asked, gaze not leaving Suna’s face as he readied his cocktail. 

“Nothing much. I didn’t have a ton to do today.” He never did. 

“Looking for another hang out?” Komori asked, sliding Suna’s drink across the table. 

“Hmmmm?” Suna wrapped one hand around the glass and pressed his lips to the rim, an eyebrow raised. There was no possible way Komori could have a recommendation for him. Suna had been to every hotspot in the city, from the Mirror Lounge to the Feral Ink Parlor to that adorable late night tea house the crazy couple of Kageyama and Hinata worked at. Suna had been everywhere. He voiced just that to Komori around another sip of his drink. 

“I haven’t heard you enthuse about Onigiri Miya yet,” Komori said, and left Suna thinking as he moved down the bar to tend to another customer. 

“What would I want with an onigiri shop?” Suna asked when Komori made his way back down to him. 

“Ha, you say that now,” Komori planted his hands on his hips, “But I think you’ll change your mind if you go. First of all, onigiri is the ultimate Japanese snack so I fail to see how you haven’t been to it, considering it’s the only place people go for rice balls nowadays. And second, you are missing out cause the manager and owner is **fine!** ” The last word was huffed out in a goofily hungry growl.

Suna didn’t repress his smile, “Oh yeah? How’s he rank on the fuckable scale? Gimme from ‘ew disgusting’ to ‘take me now.’” 

“Where exactly does, he could take my soul and I wouldn’t complain, rank?” Komori asked. 

“Damn, he’s that fine?”

“He is **that** fine. I’m talking scrumptious Rin. Like, oh my god, you have to see this man’s arms,” Komori brought his fangirling to life with elaborate hand motions and facial expressions, dropping half his weight on the counter.

“He straight?” Suna asked. 

“You should go and find out,” Komori said, a smirk Suna was all too familiar with shaping that precious face of his. “And even if he is, who cares? You’ll thank me for the eye-candy.” 

“Okay,” Suna’s voice stuttered in a laugh. The excitement was already there, anticipation hot in his chest, tearing his mind away from boredom, commonplace, and the dreams he had for himself but could never achieve. They could all wait. Now, he had an onigiri shop manager to stalk, and, more immediately, a lady or gentleman to sexually hitchhike home with. He and Komori switched conversation topics as the hours passed, Suna becoming a little less sober with every moment that slid away. Whenever Komori would go entertain others at the bar, Suna would busy himself on his phone or watch the theater happening on stage. Usually False Aphrodisiacs would have a live band playing. Sometimes Suna’s own band was playing. Though tonight the entertainment was far more risqué and boisterous. Choreography was the main focus, but there were soloist singers and stand up comedians as well. It was nice. As Komori made his way back down to Suna’s area of the bar, Suna found himself distracted with one of the athletics doing pole. They were remarkably beautiful, porcelain hands gripping the metal pole as the music began to hum, slow, sensual. Our dancer circled the pole gradually, once, twice. Suna was captivated by his hands, by the flaunt of his hips, by the way he wouldn’t quite look at the crowd of onlookers occupying the rounded tables. Suna understood, that tonight wasn’t as devoid of color as most days had been. He couldn’t hope for change to fall into his lap, but he’d welcome this spike in activity. Even if it was slight, it was there. He’d rather see in a million shades of purple than a single scale of gray.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Komori said, setting another glass down beside Suna. Suna nodded, only half aware of Komori’s words, accepting his proffered glass and taking a liberal drink. “I didn’t know you did stuff like this here,” he added, tracing the rim of his glass, gaze still focused on the stage. Our dancer was climbing the pole now, stacking his hands as he raised himself up, up, up, spinning as he went. Then he swung his body vertical, holding the pole with only one hand, head lowered, his legs outspread in a near split and back straight. Suna wished he was wearing shorts. The black fabric of his leggings that pulled and stretched over the muscles of his thighs was such a tease. Suna couldn’t see his face either, obscured in bouncy sable curls. 

“Well that’s because you don’t come here on Fridays,” Komori said, “We have all sorts of special events running through the weekend. This guy performs for us every Friday.”

“Mmmm,” Suna rocked his chin in his hand. The dancer, three quarters up the pole now, hugged the metal with the upper most part of his thighs and let the rest of his body drop in a cross ankle release, his curls being tugged from his face, revealing eyes that were, yes, so deep a black, and a very bossy smile. 

“Who is he?” Suna watched him throw himself back up, set himself upside down and just spin, spin like it was no trouble at all. Then, after five full twirls, he dragged himself back up and settled into a fairy sit, kicking his ankles back and forth, thighs quaking as they squeezed the pole. He peered at the crowd through a fan of long dark lashes, pink lips curved into a hint of a smirk. The crowd had been cheering loudly before but at that moment they truly exploded into cacophonous screams and applause. The dancer changed positions. Still somewhat sitting in the air, with hands grabbing the pole above him, he threw his legs into a fan kick. More plaudits arose. He had the entire audience incapsulated in his presence. 

“That’s my cousin,” Komori replied. 

Suna near spit out his drink, “Excuse me?” 

“That’s him,” Komori said easily, looking far too satisfied with himself. 

“That man,” Suna gestured unceremoniously at the stage, “Is the same bitchy diva with a cleaning kink and good taste in skinny jeans you keep telling me about?” 

“Yup,” Komori sang. Suna looked from the dancer to Komori, surprise writ on his features. 

“I know,” Komori laughed and closed his eyes, “How the hell are we related? We’re literally in the same family. Our parents are siblings. How did he come out looking like the perfectly sculpted love child of Hades and Aphrodite and I come out looking like a bear roach dragged from the senior citizen’s garbage? God was playing favorites”

“Komori, you are horrible,” Suna huffed, “You’re adorable, I’ll have you know. It’s just ..” He trailed off as he returned to watching the dancer, “He doesn’t sound like the type to do something like this.”

“Yeah well, pole is a whole lot more to Kiyoomi than just provocative dance. The story is pretty touching actually, but I don’t think he’d appreciate me telling all his business.”

“That’s okay,” Suna said, and it was. 

“He’s unfairly attractive,” Suna exhaled, draining his glass.

“I know,” Komori sighed.

* * *

The knew discovery of Komori’s incubus of a cousin did not deter Suna from his task. Sakusa’s appearance was a delightful surprise, totally demolishing Suna’s earlier boredom induced distress. He did, in fact, end up going home with someone. He was drunk for sure, but functional enough to know that his selected partner wasn’t shady, and that it was okay to slip into his car and cruise back to his house. Suna remembered kicking his boots off in the genkan, remembered warm hands fitting under his jacket, remembered breath ghosting over his skin, remembered the soft inquiry about a safe word despite there’d be no BDSM that night, remembered giggling a lot as he took the reigns, guiding his partner to their couch and pouncing on them, remembered his condom and his desire to wreck this guy. After that, he remembered no more. It was all nice though, and when he awoke in that unfamiliar bed, he wasn’t the least bit upset. He was thrilled in fact. The guy wasn’t a douche, and Suna had places to be that day. A very fuckable rice ball cook, super high on Komori’s recommended list, with supposedly incredible arms, was awaiting him. 

Next stop, Onigiri Miya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa has a secret night life job! :D This is just more of me indulging myself. It actually isn’t wise to wear leggings when doing pole, as it reduces friction. Sakusa has special leggings with grip so he can tease the crowd with what’s beneath. Wondering about the moves he performed? Ha, well I tried linking my references and failed so, y’all have to turn to internet photos. Cross ankle release, fairy sit, and fan kick were his poses this chapter. :)
> 
> All right! Thank you all for reading. Comments help me bring life to my stories, so please let me know what you think, and slide me a kudos if you enjoyed. Don’t forget to prioritize yourself at least once throughout the week.  
> Take care my lovelies! <3


	2. Caramel Mornings, Strawberry Afternoons, and Vanilla Twilight. Everything is Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suna meets Osamu, and he has a stronger effect over him than he expected.

Suna opened his eyes, never fully. How long had it been since he’d experience the thrill of excitement? Outside of the energetic high preforming gave him. How long? How long? He welcomed that warm buzz in his chest, the frantic scattering of his thoughts. He raised up on his elbows, recalling that he was in an unfamiliar bed as he came to coherent consciousness. His fingers grazed over his smudged eyeliner as he glanced over at his partner. His partner, very much awake, resonating the same bottom vibes from last night as he peered up at Suna through droopy lashes. He looked like a piece of candy, flushed doe skin, large cinnamon eyes, a mess of curls the color of chocolate. He was endearing, really. An out of character observation on his part, Suna reminded himself. Perhaps anticipation was not too different from a drug. 

“Heading out?” Hitsuyo asked, rolled up in blankets, voice thin and raspy with sleep fog. “Or do you wanna cuddle? Could make you breakfast?” Suna weighed his options. No sense in rushing to an onigiri shop in the morning. He dropped back down to the mattress, the sheets creasing beneath his weight, wiggling an arm around Hitsuyo. Hitsuyo curled all impressive four feet eleven of him against Suna’s chest, eyes flitting half shut as he yawned. Suna rolled a hand through springy dark hair and let his thoughts roam. Hitsuyo blew a sigh, shaping his lips into a kiss and leaving it on Suna’s chest.

“You’re very affectionate Hitsuyon,” Suna remarked, voice a slight tease as he traced Hitsuyo’s tiny side.

“Because some people need it,” Hitsuyo mumbled, “Like me. My parents are wonderful, and even still, because of the world we live in, I still feel unloved. I struggle to make friends and haven’t had any recent partners.” He nosed gently at Suna’s skin. Suna found solace in his words, the voice that was too thick and warm to belong to such a small person.

“You seem pretty likable to me,” Suna hummed.

“I’m annoying,” Hitsuyo sang, “My standards for people are simultaneously too high and too low, and I make really rude assumptions about people. Like, if they’re wearing a yellow fur turtleneck then they’re probably a dangerous person to be around if they are **that** fucking brave.” His fingernails glided up and down Suna’s back. Suna closed his eyes, his laugh stifled by his pleased exhale. He had overcome the guilt he felt after one-night-stands years ago, though sometimes he’d feel the pull of it, like a hand hovering over his neck, an ever present threat to squeeze. Not this morning however. This morning was sweet. Suna could only relate the sensation to floating on clouds, quiet, blissful, and soft. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe when next he grabbed his guitar, he could string together a coherent progression of chords. Yes, Semi was on song composition this week, but there was no reason why Suna shouldn’t help. After all, if he were to give his all to anything, it would be his band.

* * *

_And my appearance too, a little bit,_ he thought, as he stared down the three pairs of boots in his genkan. How easily he leant himself to entertainment, to the prospect of something new. He didn’t usually contemplate footwear so thoroughly. Honestly, it was just an onigiri shop. It shouldn’t have lit fire in his stomach. It shouldn’t have made him question his dehydrated skin, and yet, it did. Even if nothing would come of this endeavor, at the very least, the alacrity high it gave him would be something to treasure. Ankle boots with the kitten heels then, he decided. He’d recede on most jewelry, though the single silver stud could stay in his right ear. He wasn’t wearing anything special, a maroon cardigan over a faded T-shirt and black jeans. God, if he wasn’t the tackiest creature to ever walk the planet. That was fine though. The expression of his rebel aesthetic coupled with his laziness made for an outstanding statement, whether that was for better or worse. The afternoon was sunny, the breeze whispering cool, and Suna let the air fluff his hair as he cruised down the streets, music thrumming through the open windows of his car. The two o’clock hour was revitalizing, invigorating even, warm on Suna’s skin as he stepped from his parked vehicle. He cocked his head, hooded gaze taking in the small complex that was Onigiri Miya. Crowded, the first thing Suna noticed. Customers flowed in and out of the shop. He should’ve expected nothing less on a Saturday. With a shake of his head, he slipped into the shop. 

Suna had been underwhelmed. He expected nothing special and received just that. The darker decor, the muted tones, and appetizing aromas were notable but only served to prompt Suna into a spiral of fanciful daydreams. Desires surged behind his eyelids as he joined the back of the queue and followed its gradual movement forward. By societal par, Suna’s life was good, very good. He worked two jobs, his day life in the office for educational staffing, and his night life as a guitarist. He had friends, Komori, Semi, and Hoshiumi being his closest. He couldn’t go out and do anything expensive, but he could afford simple pleasures and wasn’t drowning in debt. Suna acknowledged he had a lot, but he wanted more. More of _what_ he could never name, he just knew he wasn’t living the full picture of the life he wanted. It was those whom were greedy and ambitious whom made it far in this universe. Suna was greedy, but certainly not ambitious. He was lackadaisical with everything. Whatever it was he wanted, he had accepted that he wouldn’t be able to achieve it. So Suna dreamed, of other worlds and someone to hold him close, of skyrocketing self-esteem and celebrations with his companions, until he found himself before the front counter.

“What can I get for ya?” the man behind the counter spoke. His voice was lax, musical, throwing Suna back into the real world and _oh.._ _fuck._ Komori wasn’t lying. Nope, definitely not. Onigiri Miya’s manager was attractive. The uniform hat dipped shadows into his eyes, a pensive blue the color of a summer storm. They were drawn with weak lines, making him look soft, pouting. A contrast though, the virile contours of his countenance, plump lips in a lopsided smile, his nose, pert and slightly upturned. Silver hair fanned beneath his hat in an undercut. Suna lingered on his face too long, eyes sliding down to the muscles of his neck, down, dragging across those broad shoulders, trying to calculate just how wide they were. He _did_ have nice arms. One elbow was propped on the countertop, and _good_ _god,_ the contracted muscles that ran from his wrist, curving up to his biceps. Suna was admirably toned himself. He wasn’t so easily impressed by sinewy dimensions and yet, the rumpled creases cast on Onigiri Making Sex God’s black shirt from the strain of his chest put a wobble in Suna’s knees. 

“Um,” Suna said intelligently, bracing one hand on the counter’s edge. He should’ve checked the menu before he got there. He peaked over his shoulder. No one was behind him. That seemed unrealistic considering the traffic a minute ago, but his shoulders relaxed nonetheless and his gaze flickered up to the illuminated menu floating above the counter.

“First time here right?” Onigiri Miya manager asked, bringing Suna’s attention to his accent. Komori said nothing of the Kanzai lilt.

“Right,” Suna bobbed his chin in a nod, “I’m Suna Rintarou. I go by Rin though.”

“Miya Osamu,” he replied, “Osamu works just fine.” 

“All right then, Mr. Osamu,” Suna purred, as his eyes drifted back to Osamu’s face. Osamu rolled his eyes. So, he was dealing with a flirt. He straightened, adjusted his hat. “So, do y’know kinda what yer lookin for. Ya look at the menu before ya got here?” 

Suna stiffened, “Uhh, not quite.” His lips twitched in a half grin, “Any recommendations Osamu?” He dripped his name out with honey. He liked the way it tasted. Osamu was unaffected by his charms. 

“Sure,” he said, “Lemme fix ya up somethin.” 

Suna was not discouraged by Osamu’s indifference. Contrarily, he found it rather amusing. Suna leaned back on his heels, resting his fingertips on his elbows, toying with the crinkles in his jacket as he watched Osamu retreat several steps into the kitchen to start prepping his rice balls.

* * *

When the other customers had received their rice balls, they had left. Suna had not, nor did he go sit at the few tables and chairs adorning the tile floor. He remained at the counter, plucking one of the three rice balls Osamu brought him from the plate and taking a bite. Suna could’ve drooled. The topping for this one was salmon and the flavor was incredible. Suna wondered what seasoning was used to leave the spice on his tongue. The heat of the onigiri nearly burned his mouth. It was, well hell, it was really good.

“Ya like it?” Osamu asked. Suna appeared to have a sloth like presence but he was quick to gobble down his first rice ball, followed by his second. Osamu would’ve been endeared to it if he hadn’t already decided that Suna was insufferable, and if he hadn’t been so thrown off by the way Suna’s eyes had widened with the taste. Suna’s eyes were peculiar, very peculiar, the color of a gilded prairie. He had thin rings for irises, always cloaked underneath his eyelids. Suna’s eyes really shouldn’t have been so off-putting when fully open for that split second, but to Osamu, they were. 

“Pretty good yeah,” Suna nodded along. Despite the time that had passed there was still not one customer to enter. “I like it a lot,” he added, reaching for the complimentary sweetened roll that came with the meal. 

“Good t hear,” Osamu’s said, elbow propped back on the counter as he observed Suna, chin cozied into his hand. 

“You’re not originally from here huh?” Suna asked, in the interest of keeping the conversation going. 

“Nah. Was born and raised in Hyogo,” Osamu replied.

“That explains the accent,” Suna said. 

“It botherin you?” 

“Oh no no no. It’s hot,” Suna flourished his wrist. Osamu caught a glimpse of the cerise cleft heart printed there and winced at the tsk tsk inflection of Suna’s tone. This guy. 

“And are you originally from here?” 

“Nope,” Suna was close to done now, “I was born in Aichi prefecture and ended up spending some time in Hyogo. College took me to Tokyo, and so here I stay.” 

“What’s yer degree?” Osamu asked. 

“Oh,” Suna raked a hand through his hair, “I didn’t graduate.” He detected the way Osamu’s expression tightened and continued, “Major turn off for ya?” 

“College ain’t for everyone,” Osamu shrugged one shoulder. It wasn’t an answer. It wasn’t meant to be a notion of comfort either. Osamu thought he had Suna figured out, a laze-about drop out with nothing to do, and Osamu, frankly, wasn’t interested. Suna was gorgeous but not enough to whether his blasé flaw, and Osamu wanted to make that abundantly clear in as subtle a way as possible. Atsumu was the ruder twin, thank you very much. At the words, Suna smiled, something almost genuine in the upward pull of his lips. He swallowed the last of his rice and paid, with the edition of a tip. 

“This ain’t really necessary,” Osamu said, counting the extra yen. 

“You can make it up to me with a more interesting conversation next time I visit,” Suna gathered up his keys and wallet from the counter, twirling on his kitten heel and sauntering from the tiny shop. Osamu huffed and passed a hand over his face. What in the world was that?

* * *

The rest of Suna’s afternoon was spent in his studio apartment, attempting to string together more than just A minor and B major variants. He had half a melody down, perhaps ten notes worth of music. Not a lot at all. It wasn’t precisely artist’s block getting in his way this time. He was distracted. Black hats and kanzai words over deep stretching muscle occupied the forefront of his mind. God, Suna was absolutely pathetic. He retired his guitar, only to pick it up that evening after a short few hours of wasting time on his phone and snacking. He packed his guitar into his case and took the train to Hoshiumi’s neighborhood. He had texted him half an hour before he arrived, and Hoshiumi had replied saying that the door would be open and he’d be tuning his piano by the time Suna arrived. Hoshiumi’s veterinarian of a boyfriend had them swimming in money, from a middle class worker’s perspective anyways. Two stories of smooth pale brick and panoramic glass windows. Suna took a moment to appreciate the picotee morning glories sprinkling the bower in the front garden. “They’re a pain in the ass to take care of,” he remembered Hirugami sighing, on one Sunday night they really _shouldn’t_ have spent drinking with dominos. All three of them had work the next morning. Hoshiumi technically didn’t _have_ to work. Hirugami’s net income had them both comfortable, but Hoshiumi at base, was driven by fairness and morals. If Hirugami was going to work, so was he. The band wasn’t enough, apparently, and Hoshiumi spent his day time hours managing a movie theater. Suna thought it was hilarious, especially since Hoshiumi always had a story to tell of his big screen adventures. The house was radiant in the evening, splashed with innumerable hues of orange, pink, red, honey gold. Suna, guitar case in his hand, trudged up the paved walkway and pushed the front door open. Applesauce was the first to greet him, one of Hoshiumi and Hirugami’s many rescue animals. She was a blind mixed breed, three shades of brown with bushy fur. She trusted her nose, friendly despite she was expecting puppies soon. Suna crouched to one knee, scratching her chin, smiling at her wagging tail as he removed his shoes and stacked them in the genkan. He left the foyer, spotting Hirugami in the living room. 

“Welcome back Suna,” Hirugami raised one hand in greeting, sprawled on the couch, half obscured in the black cotton thro draped over his shoulders. 

“Hey,” Suna waved his hand. 

“He’s in the studio,” Hirugami said, “I’ll bring you something to drink in a little bit here.”

“Thanks,” Suna passed through the living room, finding the study that was transformed into Hoshiumi’s studio. Hoshiumi was there, letting that glorious evening sunlight filter through large windows as he sat waiting on the piano bench. A slender fox was curled underneath the bench, red fur hardly visible in the chair leg shadows. 

“Hi Rin,” Hoshiumi chirped. 

“Hey Kourai.” 

“C’mere.” 

Suna did as was told, setting his guitar case down and approaching the bench. Hoshiumi’s arms came around him and Suna hugged him back.

“So, what’s been goin on with you?” Hoshiumi tapped the empty space beside him. 

“Not much,” Suna obliged, twining one leg over the other as he settled on the mahogany bench, “I’m trying to piece together something but it isn’t moving along smoothly.”

“Give it time Rin,” Hoshiumi said, wise for his childish demeanor, like some old sage. He could always read Suna like a book. He didn’t need Suna to spell it out to know he was being impatient. 

“I know,” Suna threw his head back, “I have a lot of pent up energy though and need something to do with it.”

“You, have a lot of pent up energy,” it was more a statement than a question as Hoshiumi fixed him with an unamused look. 

“Big surprise, blah blah blah, i know,” a dismissive roll of Suna’s wrist, “But listen, I met this guy today and i haven’t been able to not think about him.”

“Damn, just today? Rin, have you finally become desperate?” 

“I will shove my foot so far down your throat the surgeon will be fishing it out your intestines if you ever suggest I’m **desperate** again.” 

“Just asking. You usually don’t let people get inside your head like that.” 

“I know, that’s the problem.” 

“Here we go,” Hirugami glided into the room, passing his acquired drinks to Suna and Hoshiumi. 

“Thanks Shnookums,” Hoshiumi took him by the collar, pulling him down for an obnoxious kiss. The goal was to annoy him. 

“I hate you,” Hirugami murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of Hoshiumi’s mouth. 

“Love you too Hun,” Hoshiumi in favor, pecked Hirugami’s cheek. 

“Gag,” Suna groaned, sticking his tongue out, 

“You just hate being reminded of how hopelessly single you are,” Hoshiumi grinned. 

“Nope, you two are just disgusting.”

A pair of giggles from the other two, eliciting another eye roll from Suna. Any day now, any day and he was convinced his eyes would just fall out the back of his head. Hirugami signaled his exit with a bow, turning and leaving the studio. The fox followed after. 

“Have you always had her?” Suna asked. 

“Him, actually,” Hoshiumi shifted in his seat, “And nah, got him a couple days ago. He’s recovering from a bad leg and a fever. Sachirou’s looking after him until the clinic he works at chooses a sanctuary for him.”

“Aw.” 

“Speaking of foxes, I assume this guy you met today is one?”

“Yes, Umi. He’s an absolute babe.” 

“Name? Age? What’s he do for a living?”

“Miya Osamu, blank, and, he owns an onigiri shop.” 

“Thought you were into more variety.”

“You haven’t seen him yet.”

“So, let’s look him up on the internet and stalk him together.”

“You’re great, Hoshi,” Suna took a swig of his glass. What exactly did Sachirou do to make his sake so good?

“You know it,” Hoshiumi flashed a beaming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Osamu arrives! Ah, my baby! For those who stuck around, my buddy over on Instagram, Izleedraws, has some _precious_ fan art of Hoshiumi. Check it out! :)
> 
> Next chapter we have SakuAtsu! Leave a kudos if you enjoyed and share your thoughts in a comment! Make sure you’re eating and sleeping well. Take care Sweethearts <3


	3. Frosty, Frightening. Ice Inspires Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Suna and Osamu reflect on their meeting, Atsumu experiences the beginnings of a very big crush at the Mirror Lounge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! :)  
> I am having a garbage day, so I’m posting. I hope this chapter will help you guys feel good. Cause if you’re happy, I’m happy. :)

Perhaps postponing their musical session to scroll through endless Instagram photographs and Twitter posts of a sinfully attractive rice ball maker was not the most productive idea Suna and Hoshiumi had ever had. It was doing wonders for Suna’s growing curiosity - obsession Hoshiumi named it - for Miya Osamu. It was not in fact an obsession, Suna would forever deny. Osamu circled the back of his mind. He couldn’t shake those pouting stormy eyes. He couldn’t shake the way Osamu moved, every lazy tilt of his head, the way his arm seamlessly passed over his chest, the slow curve of his shoulders. He was fluid, relaxed, like a river, and just the liquid ease with which his hips swayed when he walked was reason enough to make Suna’s head whirl. That didn’t mean he was obsessed. The way Osamu’s voice swung up and down, like a melody, rang clear in Suna’s mind too. He found his thoughts catching on words he had said, remembering all the minutiae of that Kanzai dialect. _Look at the menu before ya got here?_ _It botherin ya?_ _College ain’t for everyone._ Harmonious, his words and the way his lips shaped them were positively harmonious. All right, perhaps Suna was a _little_ obsessed. It was just a minuscule interest, something for him to chase, to tease his boredom until he tired of it. That was all. It meant nothing that the object of his curiosity had perfunctorily thrusted all the colors back into Suna’s world, all the sound, all the taste, leaving him at once too full and yet not full enough. It wasn’t a big deal, really.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but is this not the guy you got your flower tattoo from?” Hoshiumi was currently in possession of Suna’s phone, selecting one of Osamu’s more recent Instagram posts. It was a face shot of him, caught in the embrace of someone who looked exactly like him. 

“Oh, fuck, it is,” Suna leaned to examine the photo. He remembered the man crushing Osamu in a hug quite clearly, golden hair and chaotic brown eyes, the owner and main artist at the Feral Ink Parlor. Suna had gone there six months ago, and the energetic blonde was responsible for the new string of black and red glazed, layered, swirling petals with midnight aubergine leaves, that spiraled up his back. Hoshiumi had accompanied him through the handful of days it took. 

“Atsumu,” Suna murmured, hand coming beneath his chin, “I do remember him saying something about having a twin, but the guy talks so much who knows what that conversation could’ve been about.”

“Looks like twins to me,” Hoshiumi said, one of the grins that betokened he was soon to do something menacing setting into his striking features. “So, you’re hubby has a faux blonde lookalike.” 

“Oh my god,” a heavy groan, and Suna tipped his face into his palm. “Hubby?” 

“With the way you talk about him I’d be shocked if you didn’t get married to him.”

“It’s not that deep,” Suna reached for his phone. 

“Oh but it is,” Hoshiumi swiped the phone out of reach and continued scrolling through Osamu’s page, “You realize, Rin, that this is the first time you’ve been excited about someone in a real long time. And I mean **actually** excited. Not your, ‘ooo, maybe I’ll let him buy me coffee and then ghost him cause I decided I don’t deserve happiness’ excited. You’re actually gonna put yourself out there, right? I’m fairly certain you aren’t just interested in getting into his pants this time, aren’tcha?”

Suna’s chest tightened up. Hoshiumi was ever the perceptive one. 

“So what’ll you do when you visit him next, huh?” 

“Give him my number,” Suna mumbled, hands fiddling in his lap. He didn’t much like being called out.

“Right, and then this grisly bare of a guy will love you forever and give you the care you need!” Hoshiumi clapped his shoulder. 

Another smile was tugging at Suna’s lips. “Y’know, you’re not exactly one to talk considering how large Hirugami is.”

“Sachirou might be taller than him, but I reckon your new honey would still wreck him in a fight,” Hoshiumi chimed. 

“Shouldn’t you be more faithful in your boyfriend?”

“Sachirou, getting rough?” Hoshiumi chortled and offered a vigorous shake of his head, “Definitely not. The best he could do is expose his opponent’s pressure points and then run.”

“You have a terrible personality,” Suna deadpanned. 

“I believe that’s why you and I get along so well, cause you’re also flaming shit as a person.”

“True.” 

“Hey, did Semi send you the music recordings for the next song? My email’s been kinda trippy lately.” 

“Oh yeah here,” Suna retrieved his phone and navigated to his own emails, “Nothing’s set in stone. He’s just shooting ideas right now.”

“Kay,” Hoshiumi leaned on his shoulder, and the pair reviewed Semi’s work in progress.

* * *

Osamu rubbed at his face when he stepped back into the sanctity of his one-story, the door clicking shut behind him. He crouched in the genkan, swopping his work flats out for house slippers. He had seen Atsumu’s car parked outside his home, so the loud hum of the television in the living room didn’t startle him. On days like these, not that there were many, he wondered how smart it was to have given Atsumu a key to his house. If Atsumu wasn’t in someone’s bed, hanging out with friends, or chatting someone up at the tattoo shop, he was crashing at Osamu’s place. Needless to say, he despised being alone. No matter what he’d deny the fact remained that he was a gregarious extrovert whom craved the affection of others just as much as he adored giving affection to others. Osamu usually didn’t mind, but on days like these, which again, rarely came around, foisting upon him feelings of exhaustion and/or bafflement, he wished he could come home to an empty house, letting his brain fry as he contemplated the reasons behind the nonsense that happened upon him while he ate himself into a coma. It was what he did three years ago, that bazaar time his ex threw a drink at him and he ended up almost arrested in his own restaurant for fighting back. Osamu had sense not to put his hands on a lady, but just as much had sense to defend himself, and therefore spent the next hours cooking and eating at home, glaring down the five hundred thousand yen fine he had brought back with him. It was how he coped. It didn’t usually include Atsumu, unless the issue was paramount. 

“Yer here again? Don’tcha have a home er somethin?” Osamu huffed, by way of greeting as he entered the living room. Graceless and heavy, he flopped into the couch cushion beside Atsumu, grabbing the remote and modulating the television down to a lower volume.

“Shut up Samu. You love me,” Atsumu kicked Osamu in the ankle. 

“How’d ya come t that delusion?” Osamu retorted, twirling his heel into Atsumu’s shin. 

“Rude,” Atsumu stuck his lip out in a pout, but recovered quick. “Anyways,” he swiveled in his seat, swinging his legs up onto Osamu’s lap and raising his hands to squeeze his brother’s shoulders. “Ya look tired as hell. Everythin all right? Somethin happen at work?” 

“Kinda,” Osamu prodded at Atsumu’s knees until he jerked his legs away, “Had a real weird customer come in.” 

“How so?” Atsumu tipped his head and blinked, letting his hands rest on his previously assaulted knees. 

“Aaahhh,” Osamu pillowed an arm behind is head. When thinking of Suna there was not a single combination of words that could possibly encapsulate the odd sensations his presence put to Osamu’s body. All Osamu knew was that he was unusual. “He had.. weird eyes,” he said, voice unsure. It had been the first thing he noticed about Suna, his eyes. Eyes with sharp angles and dramatic arches. Thin irises, a gilded green, not unlike sunlight filtering through fragile leaf canopies, large pupils, all half obscured by very heavy lids. He looked hazy, an immobile presence, as if he were only partially there. Where walked the rest of his soul, Osamu did not know. 

“Weird eyes,” Atsumu echoed, “Were they a weird color?” 

“Nah,” a tiny shake of Osamu’s chin, “They were just green but uhh.. I dunno, somethin about them bothered me.” 

“Kay, what else?”

“Mmm,” Osamu pressed his lips into a thin line, reviewing the different flashes of Suna’s countenance that had been glued on replay in his mind through the entire duration of his shift. Suna had an odd collection of features, features that didn’t match, or maybe they did and they just appeared off putting to Osamu. Suna had a heart shaped face with full cheeks, bright eyes with the dullest reflection, rich butter skin that looked dry as sand, downturned lips quirked underneath a snub nose. It was all haloed in dark hair that, if not such a thick and frizzed mess, would have been comparable to chocolate silk. He looked like an animal, a fox perhaps, and yet, all of his features struck Osamu as alluring, a strange, potent sort of allure that had Osamu drinking up every detail, but alluring nonetheless. Even the shadow bisecting his lips, the upward flick of his lashes, the shaded dips and slopes of his neck, would stick to Osamu’s thoughts. 

“God, Tsumu, I don’t even know,” Osamu dropped his shoulders with resign, “He’s just ... different. Plus he was flirtin with me and no one ever does that.”

“I know it’s hard t think so when I’m around, but ya are an attractive person Samu, even if I’m the better twin.” 

That earned him a backhanded blow to his chest. It didn’t hurt, especially when considering just how hard Osamu _could_ hit. Atsumu’s grin turned idle, one of the shit eating smirks he and Osamu were known for in their younger days. “It ain’t too big a surprise someone wanted t try and get yer attention. Yer hit on more than ya think. Yer just also oblivious, so it all just flies over yer head,” he made a melodramatic arcing motion with his arms. 

“I guess,” Osamu’s features softened with discomfort. 

“Did ya flirt back?” Atsumu asked. 

“Hell nah,” Osamu spat, “Tsumu, he’s weird, and kinda freaky lookin. Also, he didn’t finish up college.”

“Lots of people don’t. Hell, I didn’t even go.”

“Ya found an apprenticeship.”

“You didn’t go t college either.”

“I went t a business and economics trade school.”

“Okay okay,” Atsumu deflated, “But that don’t mean he’s a bad guy.”

”Ya shoulda scene the look in his eyes, oh, and he’s a hunch back.”

“I feel like that’s an irrelevant detail.”

“I’m not sayin he’s a bad guy or anythin,” Osamu dragged a hand through his smoky hair, “I’m just sayin that he probably ain’t for me, but..” 

“There’s a but?” Atsumu asked. 

“I dunno,” Osamu brushed his hands over his face, “He said he’d be visitin again and I really don’t know what I’m gonna do with him.”

“Yer makin that face like someone’s feelin up yer thigh at a business conference again,” Atsumu pulled on Osamu’s nose, “Ya gotta stop lookin so butt hurt over everythin or yer gonna activate my big brother instincts.”

“You are four hours and eleven minutes older than me,” Osamu used his hand to gently paw Atsumu’s away from his cheek. 

“Ya never know, this might bring more good than harm,” Atsumu draped his arm around Osamu’s shoulders, and Osamu relaxed into the touch. 

“I doubt that,” Osamu mumbled. 

“Such a pessimist,” Atsumu waved his wrist around, “Anyways, till yer terrifying flirt returns. Let’s distract ya. We already got my party goin on in a few hours, and did Shin tell ya he and Aran were in town?”

“Yeah, he told me,” Osamu nodded, his pout morphing into a meek smile. Atsumu had received his third star rating not so long ago. It was a marvelous accomplishment regardless, but even more so because Atsumu had only established the Feral Ink Parlor a year and a half ago, after working as one of many minor artists in another shop. So Osamu and a few of Atsumu’s friends were going out to the Mirror Lounge that evening to celebrate the blonde twin’s success. Osamu and Atsumu’s dreams had brought them to Tokyo, but Kita had stayed behind to fulfill his rice farming aspirations in Hyogo, as well as to care for his grandmother, still alive and kicking. Aran, his beloved husband and the twins’ childhood friend, of course resided with him. The twins always looked forward to their quarter annual visits. Osamu would not ignore the eagerness to see his good friends, or his adopted niece and nephew.

Osamu got to his feet and pressed down the crinkles in his shirt, “I’m showerin first.”

“It’s my party y’know!” Atsumu called after him, as Osamu turned his back and headed for his bedroom. 

“My house my rules loser,” Osamu threw back, door clicking shut behind him seconds later. 

“You suck Samu!” Atsumu wailed, with no particular hate or ill will, only petulant unhappiness reminiscent of their youth.

Osamu cackled.

Atsumu giggled. God he hated that laugh.

* * *

Osamu tried to banish Suna from his mind while he showered, which ended in varying degrees of success, but as he dried his hair and brushed his teeth, and cleaned his chin of the small pricks of stubble looking to grow in, he was content. Perhaps he should allow Atsumu into his coping ritual a little more often. Osamu was never one for aesthetics. He stuck to casual and business casual and was therefore out of sorts when made to dress for one of the greatest lounges in Tokyo. He was shocked when Atsumu said that’s where he wanted to have his celebration. 

“Don’t wanna go club hoppin or somethin?” Osamu had asked, raising an eyebrow, “Don’t wanna throw a big ole house party or nothin like that?”

“That’s four star level celebration material Samu,” Atsumu had replied. Osamu didn’t understand it, but questioned it no further. He felt a little awkward in his black blazer. Did it fit his shoulders okay? The hug of his black trousers made him suddenly anxious of the fat that had been gathering over his hips. He’d have to do more squats. A blue button-down with light embellishment and a French Gray scarf that draped around his neck topped his outfit. When debating jewelry, of which he possessed little, he settled for a silver watch Atsumu had gifted him for his birthday. Osamu waited for Atsumu to get ready in the living room, his anxiety rising when Atsumu reentered looking stunning. He should take fashion advice from his older twin, shouldn’t he? Atsumu could always take people’s breath away in white, but he was feeling a touch less innocent tonight and therefore decided to dress in red. Osamu could only guess at the material of the crimson evening coat he was dressed up in, a tightly spun, onyx black chiffon shirt peaking underneath, accented with golden buttons. 

“Think I look okay?” Atsumu raised his foot to adjust the one and a half inch heel of his black shoe. 

“You’ll blow’m away Tsumu,” Osamu hopped from the couch and joined his brother’s side. 

“Try not to take too many women home now Samu,” Atsumu deflected the compliment with a wink, and with that, they left.

* * *

The interesting thing about the Mirror Lounge was it’s decor. Beyond the standard red carpets and cream couch cushions, it had a very special feature, that of which being its mirrors. Large mirrors, wide and floor-to-ceiling consumed the walls like panel glass windows. Osamu would assume it was a trick of a screen and a mirror’s natural ability to reflect, but a different scene would reflect in the mirrors every week, making one feel as though they were surrounded in a picturesque, ideal area. Today the theme was simply flower gardens. Camellias and magnolias of every shade, from cerise to periwinkle to rosebud to porcelain, flashed in the mirror walls, a cloudless blue expanse above. 

“Oh wow! This place is even cooler than the pictures online!” Atsumu gushed when he and Osamu passed over the threshold, likely drawing the attention of every customer in the lounge. 

“Who, might I ask, are you?” the doorman asked. 

“You should have a reservation for me, Miya Atsumu,” Atsumu chimed, the enthusiastic flicker not leaving his eyes, lips still dancing in that excitable grin. 

“Right,” the doorman nodded, “I believe your friends have already arrived.” 

“Yeah, I see them, thanks!” Atsumu chirped, spotting his plus six gathered around a table in the conversation pit. He made his way down, Osamu falling in step with him, arriving at the ring of couches surrounding the circular table his friends were at. 

“Tsum Tsum! Three stars! Way to go man! I’m proud of ya!” Bokuto shouted, waving his hands chaotically in the air. 

“Koutarou please. Try and keep a level head while in an establishment such as this,” Akaashi chided gently from beside him, setting one hand on Bokuto’s thigh. That didn’t stop his overt arm flailing, but he was at the very least a touch quieter now. 

“Yeah, great job! You’re amazing, awesome!” Hinata chose to be loud for him, springing up and down until Kageyama pulled him back into his seat.  


Atsumu beamed, “Thank you Shouyou-Kun. I’m flattered really!”

“Tsum-Chan! Congrats, and you look wonderful by the way!” Oikawa this time. Not waiting for Atsumu to sit down, he jumped from the cream couch, purse swinging as he captured Atsumu in a deep embrace and planted a succulent kiss on his cheek. Atsumu squeezed Oikawa back, uncaring to the rouge pink lipstick mark now printed on the skin below his eye. “Thanks. Ya look nice too, y’know?”

“Don’t I always?” Oikawa withdrew only to flip his donut curls. 

“Don’tcha ever get tired a bein a bitch?” Atsumu retorted, smirk playing at his lips. 

“Don’t you?” Oikawa fired back. Atsumu couldn’t argue with that, his smirk only growing. He plopped down on the couch, Osamu finding the empty seat beside him. Congratulations were passed around the circle, overly energetic speeches of achievement from Hinata, Bokuto, and Oikawa, and respectful praise from Kageyama, Akaashi, and Iwaizumi. Atsumu was glowing, the brightness he resonated representing only a fraction of the warmth that spread through his body. This was nothing short of divine, greater than he could’ve imagined. He had done it. He was making it happen. The group jumped into conversation immediately. Oikawa was eager to catch Atsumu up on the gossip, and Akaashi had a bit of his own regarding the employees at his publishing company. Hinata and Kageyama’s big stretch of news involve the stray cats they were taking in. They hadn’t ventured too far into their conversation when their server arrived. 

“Good evening to you. My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi, and I’ll be taking care of you today.” All eyes snapped to their server, but Atsumu’s gaze stayed _glued_ there. Atsumu’s throat closed up with rocks and his heart lost all its weight. This man wasn’t just beautiful, he was downright _illegal._ He wore a mask, which Atsumu hadn’t the sense to question in his trance, but he could tell the man was attractive. His eyes were a sea of ink. Was it really possible for someone’s eyes to be black? They were enormous, so abnormally large, slightly lidded, following the downward slant of his eyebrows. He had a veneer that bespoke of eternal displeasure, and Atsumu wondered if the nose, cheek bones, and lips that disappeared behind that mask appealed to the same illusion. He had hair the same hue of his eyes, silken black and full of curls that bounced at the nape of his neck and dipped across the left of his forehead, just shy of obscuring his eye. This wasn’t fair, Atsumu’s thoughts as his gaze swept down to Sakusa’s body. He looked to have slender dimensions, though little could be surmised from the black suite he wore, which, Atsumu will add, he was not at all complaining about. Sakusa had been speaking. He had a voice like the night, but despite how hung Atsumu had been on the rusty timbre, he hadn’t processed a word of what he said. Osamu’s hand came beneath his chin, fingers curling around his jaw and gently pushing up, prompting Atsumu to wonder if his mouth had been agape the whole time. 

“He’s talkin t you, doofus,” Osamu murmured. 

“Sorry,” Atsumu tried to reset, “What’ja say there?” 

“It is to my understanding that you’re celebrating a special achievement,” Sakusa dipped into a bow, “Congratulations.”

“Thank ya kindly,” Atsumu grinned, watching the swish of Sakusa’s curls. 

“Certainly,” Sakusa nodded, “Are you all ready to order?”  


The group came to a collective agreement that they were. They all put in their meals and drinks, though Atsumu took his time ordering. He very well knew what kind of drink he wanted, but he deliberated, being sure to ask Sakusa his recommendations as well, if only to hear his voice. He noted the way his brow pinched in irritation and found it delightfully entertaining. 

“Ya always make that face when customers ask ya bout drinks?” Atsumu leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over the crown of the couch. 

“I’m not making a face,” Sakusa deadpanned. He was very much aware that he was and equal parts disgusted in Atsumu’s obnoxious smile. 

“All right,” Atsumu waved his wrist, “D y’know much about alcohol, then?” His voice tilted. He was challenging him.

“Certainly,” Sakusa kept the bite out of his tone. How dare this loud mouth impugn his alcohol knowledge. He was no sommelier but he _was_ working at a cocktail lounge, after all. 

“Could ya ‘splain the difference between rum and brandy to me?” 

“Rum is made with a different base than brandy is,” Sakusa said, monotone. Atsumu’s features lit up with shock and he blinked. Definitely not the elaboration he wanted. Sakusa just stated the obvious. 

“Hmmm, are we interested in either of them?” Sakusa asked, voice far too smug behind that mask. “How about this. I’ll bring you a glass of apricot cognac for your first round and a coconut rum mixer for your second, and you can tell me what you think the difference is. If you still can’t find it, I’ll pull up an article for you. Mmkay?” Without further delay, he spun on his heel, clipboard in gloved hands, and vanished behind the bar. 

“And that’s on period!” Oikawa was the first to break the silence, busting into laughter. His mirth was infectious. 

“Point blank,” Hinata added, also in a fit of giggles. 

“He’s terrible,” Iwaizumi muttered. 

“I know,” Atsumu had tears pricking the corners of his eyes he was laughing so hard, “I think I’m in love.” 

“Ugh, I will never understand you Tsumu,” Osamu bumped his knee against Atsumu’s, “Y’know he was wearin a mask right? How does that not scream weirdo in yer book?” 

“I like his spunk,” Atsumu said. 

“That boy said he will pull up an article for you,” Bokuto sputtered between laughs. Even Akaashi had thrown his head back and chuckled.

Atsumu wiped at his eyes and beamed. This really was a wonderful day.

* * *

“You look pissed,” Yaku commented as Sakusa came up beside him, elbows propped on the bar counter. He slid his gaze from the customers nestled around the lounge to instead marvel at the hard lines that shaped Sakusa’s countenance. Yaku had been his coworker long enough to recognize a handful of the facial cues ascribed to Sakusa’s emotions, though it was considerably harder since he wore a mask. 

“I am repulsed by my customers today,” Sakusa passed Yaku the record he took of everyone’s drinks. He rued coming into work today, but he had no performances or engagements scheduled that evening and thought to get some extra work done. Regret was too common a color for him.

“Oh yeah?” Yaku skimmed the list of wines and cocktails. 

“Their guest of honor questioned my alcohol knowledge,” Sakusa stated. Yaku covered his giggles with one hand. 

“Kay, so what do you think of him?”

“He must’ve dyed his hair blindfolded, and he’ll die a stupid death.” 

“You’re a horrible person,” Yaku said. 

“That’s not offensive, Yaku.” 

Yaku laughed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How bout a fun head canon? I feel like Osamu’s motivation to exercise dwindles every year throughout adult hood, so his hips and thighs are a little chunkier than the rest of him. He’ll probably lose all his muscle by age thirty seven. He’d never admit it out loud, but Atsumu’s gentle encouragement about his appearance really helps him feel better about the awkward relationship with his body.
> 
> This head canon thing was inspired by Tiger’s Eye, a KuroKen story by revel_ry. Let me know if you think I should do more. :)
> 
> Suna in a lace bra? Mmm, sounds tasty. Direct yourself to Izleedraws’ Instagram. :)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Please drop a comment and a kudos if it isn’t too much trouble. Remember to set aside at least one day to prioritize yourself. Take care My Loves <3


	4. The Hunting Sand Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu’s three star celebration draws to a close, and Osamu gets another visit from Suna.

“Anyways, Totome is extra shy,” Hinata went on, “All she does is hide under our dresser and it’s really hard to get her comfortable anywhere. Tobio ‘s the only one who can really coax her out of her hiding places, but I’m sure that’s because he’s much like a cat himself.” Hinata had been regaling them all of his and Kageyama’s adventures following the impulse adoption of two stray cats. The group’s conversation had drifted from topic to topic. Often the subject of talk would veer south due to a random comment made by someone else, more often than not Bokuto or Oikawa. Atsumu was as chatty as ever, and he floated through the chatter passing around his table perfunctorily. They drank a lot, all of them. Osamu and Akaashi were the only ones to moderate their alcohol intake, Osamu because he became awful dangerous when drunk, in both the violent and excitable sense, and Akaashi because he’d be the one caring for Bokuto when they finally left the lounge. Iwaizumi was great at masking his intoxication, now only sleepy and affectionate, his head lulling to Oikawa’s shoulder as he listened to him sing out replies and commentary. Kageyama was also a manageable drunk, a bit more giggly and cheerful, but manageable. Atsumu only ever got hyped up on energy and touchy when he was drunk, however, since they were in a relaxed setting and he had no one to touch, the situation was pretty tame. The food was really good too, hot, savory fish of many types with sugared rices and buttery rolls. 

“It’s true Tobio-Chan’s always been a little cat like,” Oikawa said, glass flute extended as he marveled at the bubbles in his strawberry Prosecco. 

“If anyone’s catty, that’d be you Oikawa,” Kageyama remarked, combing at the hair drooping in his face with a light smile. 

“Well when you put it that way,” Oikawa said, radiance in his words. He leaned to land a peck on Iwaizumi’s cheek. “Is Iwa tired?” he cooed, rubbing circles over Iwaizumi’s knee beneath the table. 

“Talk to me like a baby again and see if I don’t sober up and beat you,” Iwaizumi grumbled, a meaningless threat reflective of he and Oikawa’s childhood friendship. 

“Tsum Tsum, three stars!” Bokuto had to remind him whenever he mentioned Atsumu’s inking business, “What are you gonna do with that?” 

“I’ll use the publicity to capitalize on promotin my art,” Atsumu chirped, “I’ve got a lot I need to add to my portfolio, like sleeves.”

“Wow, that’s actually rather intelligent of ya, Tsumu,” Osamu gave Atsumu a gentle nudge with his elbow.

“Uh duh, it was yer low key ingenious brain that I learned it from,” Atsumu draped himself heavily upon his brother. 

“Low key?” Osamu considered shrugging him off, but decided to spare him for his special night. Atsumu broke into a fit of giggles, expression illuminating despite Osamu’s response was hardly even worth a smile. His laughter was contagious, it always had been. Atsumu’s joy was innately infectious. The thing about his happiness encouraged everyone else to be happy too. As so, Bokuto followed in his laughter, proceeded by Hinata, Oikawa, so on and so forth, until the whole table was heaving with uncontrolled mirth. 

“How are we all doing so far?” Sakusa came by the table for the third time, a tray in his hand.

“We’re doin fine thank you,” Osamu said, patting Atsumu’s back to get him to relax. Akaashi implied a similar method to ease Bokuto’s laughter, while Hinata quieted himself and Iwaizumi yawned to get Oikawa’s attention.

“Would you let me take those please?” Sakusa asked, collecting their empty plates from the table and stacking them on his tray. “Is there anything else I should take?” 

The group shook their heads with varying degrees of sobriety. 

“Miya,” Sakusa angled his head toward Atsumu, “I never did ask. Were you much able to tell the difference between rum and brandy?” 

Atsumu blinked once, twice.. He had forgotten, nothing too uncommon in a drunken haze, and Atsumu had imbibed in a _myriad_ of more drinks after Sakusa’s recommended apricot cognac and coconut mixer. Realization bloomed over his features and he tipped his head with an open grin, “Nope.”

Sakusa’s eye twitched, a motion his mask could not hide. Still, he kept his voice careful as he asked, “I have several articles in mind for this dilemma. Should I pull one up for you?” 

“Actually, couldja pull up yer number instead?” Atsumu asked, shameless, peering up at Sakusa through heavy lids and fluffy lashes. Sakusa’s throat bobbed in what was almost a choke as the words hit him. A soft pink hue washed down his cheekbones and it took immeasurable amounts of self-control not to glance away. “That’s all right,” he murmured, the shock that this faux blonde was flirting with him lingering fresh on his skin. 

“Awwww gee, really?” Atsumu plumped his lips into a pout. Rejections were no new thing to him, but they certainly weren’t common. “May I ask why?”

“... I’m not really looking right now, for a relationship,’ Sakusa said. 

“Does that include for the casual capacity too?” 

“Yes, apologies.” 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Atsumu waved his wrist with a merciful smile. 

“Well, can I get you anything else?” Sakusa addressed the group. 

“Tsum-Chan, ready for dessert?” Oikawa asked.

“Hell yeah!” if Atsumu were at all dismayed by Sakusa’s decline, he didn’t show it. His eyes widened to saucers and were nothing short of sparkling at the idea of cake. The group placed their order for dessert. Sakusa bowed and ran it to the kitchen. 

“Gaaagghhhh! He said no!” Atsumu dropped is head on the table, distressed. 

“Well, at least you were rejected by a hot guy,” Oikawa said, “It’d be a shame if you were rejected by like a cheese curd of a man. A shame cause you’re sexy as fuck and I’d have to laugh at you.”

“Artificial bitch,” Atsumu spat. 

“Helpless slut” Oikawa shot back.

“All right, a tie for the bitching battle today,” Iwaizumi tossed an arm over Oikawa’s shoulders and squeezed, “Now calm down before you two say something hurtful.” 

“Aw, Iwa, I’d never,” Oikawa put on his best innocent smirk. Atsumu reciprocated, and both Osamu and Iwaizumi felt second hand dread from what those innocent grins usually betokened. 

“Another upside, he didn’t reject you because he was straight,’ Akaashi said. 

“How is that an upside?” Atsumu grumbled. 

“Well because that way you can maybe convince him to change his mind, right Akaashi?” Hinata enthused, looking to Akaashi for confirmation. Akaashi nodded once. 

“Well, s’pose that’s true,” Atsumu propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, “But, I don’t exactly have Mirror Lounge every night money. So I can’t come see’m real often.” 

“I’ve gotcha covered whore,” Oikawa held up his phone to display his list of contacts, ‘I thought I recognized the name Sakusa. My sister works with a Sakusa Fuyume. If my hunch is correct **that** Sakusa and **your** Sakusa are related. I’ll see if I can get my sister to wiggle some information out about the Sakusa zaibatsu. Maybe we can learn **your** Sakusa’s favorite hangouts. You’d have a much better chance catching him at a nearby coffee shop than you would coming up with cash for weekly visits to this place.” 

“That’s lucky,” Atsumu said. 

“Still a long shot though,” Osamu mumbled. 

“No one asked for yer pessimism Samu!” Atsumu exclaimed, “See what you can get me Tooru.” 

“I’ll let you know if I see him around too,” Hinata said. 

“Me too,” Bokuto added, “Operation Finding Tsum Tsum’s Sweetheart is a go!” 

“Woo!” Atsumu, Bokuto, Hinata, and Oikawa all raised their glasses together. 

“Foolishness,” Akaashi said beneath his breath, while Kageyama and Osamu shook their heads. 

“They’ve definitely had plenty to drink,” Iwaizumi said.

* * *

Tokyo was rarely a quiet city, even by the latest hour, but even with the flickering lights and bustling streets that greeted him outside the lounge, Atsumu still felt as though this moment belonged to him and no one else. The air was chilled over his skin, an extreme opposition to the alcohol warm inside his stomach. He was full and heavy, the world a dream about him. He’d thank Osamu later for all but carrying him. Everyone in their circle held conversation beyond the lounge’s front doors for a short while, then separated in a heartfelt round of deep embraces and sweet congratulations, as well as some wishes of safety on their travels home.

“Samu, canIStayTheNightWithYa?” Atsumu asked, a prominent slur in his words, footsteps heavy as he levered most of his weight on his brother. 

“Yeah well, I doubt yer sober enough to even use yer house key right now,” Osamu guided Atsumu to his car, knowing his sarcasm fell on death ears when Atsumu was trashed. He ushered him into the passenger seat, rounding the car to slide into the driver’s seat. As he navigated the metropolis roads of Tokyo and Atsumu snoozed on the window, he contemplated the breakfast meal he’d make to soothe his brother’s inevitable hangover.

* * *

Sakusa never failed to get home a little later than most whenever he came from the Mirror Lounge. He had a way he liked to clean things. Plus, he liked to see Yaku to the train station. Yaku was small and Sakusa didn’t like the idea of someone so fragile - well, perhaps vulnerable by societal standards was a better word for Yaku - traversing the Tokyo streets alone at night. After insuring Yaku’s safety however, he’d head straight home, snag a shower, and likely fall asleep listening to an audio book. Tonight though he had plans to visit Komori. So after his shower, he slipped into something more comfortable than a suit and took the yamanote line to Komori’s house. Iizuna and Komori both had night jobs, a paramedic and bartender respectively, which would’ve rendered them nocturnal if not for their adopted boy Shouji, constituting them as sleep deprived pigeons surviving off of Iizuna’s cooking, Komori’s cold brews, and a scintillating affection for living that Sakusa lacked. Komori answered the door when Sakusa knocked. 

“Hey Kiyoomi,” Komori gathered him in a quick hug before tugging him inside his petite one-story 

“Hello,” Sakusa covered his yawn with his palm.

“Tsu-Kun! Kiyoomi’s hear! So get a shirt on!” Komori pitched his voice. He was fortunate kids slept like rocks. Otherwise Shouji wouldn’t have any peace with as loud as his peppy father was. 

“Hey Cuz,” Iizuna appeared from the bedroom down the hall, a drowsy smile on his lips, T-shirt a touch rumpled. He gave Sakusa a strong hug then pulled back, one arm draping loose around Komori’s hips. 

“Iizuna,” Sakusa said, by way of greeting. The three made their way to the couch.

“Didn’t i already give you permission to call me by my first name?” Iizuna grabbed the remote, lowering the television’s volume. Japan’s national volleyball team against Canada flashed across the TV screen. 

“You say it every time I visit,” Sakusa sunk into Komori’s decorative pillows. Iizuna shook his head. Sakusa allowed for a tender smile.

“How was work?” Komori asked. 

“Fine,” Sakusa replied, “We had someone celebrating an accomplishment this evening.”

“Oh? Were they too much trouble for you?” 

“No, though he did try and flirt with me.” 

“Oh, was he a douche about it?” Komori was firmly invested in the conversation now, hands resting on his knees as he stared at Sakusa. 

“No.” 

“Was he cute?”

“For someone with bright gold hair.” 

“Did you flirt back?”

“Do you know me?”

“Why Hun?” Komori’s excitable expression fell. 

“C’mon Motoya. You know why,” Sakusa said. 

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him I wasn’t looking, because I’m not.” 

“You’ve been **not looking** for five years,” Komori stated, tone a soft berate, hands on his hips despite he was sitting. 

“I can’t,” Sakusa’s emotional defenses raised. 

“Baby,” Iizuna cooed, his features adopting the same distraught quality of his husbands. 

“I’m fine, all right?” Sakusa folded his arms over his chest, staring in another direction. 

“Kiyoomi, I know you’re ..” Komori swayed his hands in search of a good word, “Still figuring things out, but how are you supposed to heal if you don’t open yourself up?” 

“You can’t just slap a bandaid on and call it a day,” Iizuna said, “Sometimes you have to let your wound breathe, okay?” Sakusa knew. The wisdom in their advice burned through his skin and the accuracy of it made him feel misshaped in his own clothes, in his own bones. He couldn’t though. He wasn’t brave enough. The thought of facing it twisted his stomach with enough nausea to fuel eight panic attacks. He picked at the hem of his shirt, “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” He didn’t watch for their disillusioned expressions. They had so often held this conversation, he knew what to expect. Sakusa was no aromantic to be sure, but he struggled with the concept of relationships, the foundations of which he would not like to share. Sakusa had done lots of self work after those handful of nights, but he had yet to cure his aversion to the presence of another human being in his personal space. Intimacy. It wasn’t per say a fear he had of it, but rather, an unnatural disinterest in giving it a try that had little to do with his sexual orientation, and lots to do with a few certain events that nigh ended his college career. 

“I’ll get a couple drinks going,” Komori got from his seat. They could all use one. Sakusa watched Komori round the couch and vanish into the kitchen, the displeasure of his visage prompting Sakusa’s own countenance to drop. 

“Don’t do that,” Iizuna placed a hand on his arm, “He loves you more than anyone in this world. He’s worried about you, but not upset with you.” 

“I wish I could stop letting him down,” Sakusa lowered his chin, confounded at his easy admission. 

“You never do that Babe,” Iizuna pulled him into a tight hug. Sakusa melted into his cousin-in-law’s embrace. He and Komori both had such cherish worthy gifts. Iizuna’s demeanor and affection could soothe any spiritual aches and pains, and Komori’s positivity was a welcome infection. It was hard to feel saddened or neglected when he was smiling at you. Sakusa, in spite of all the searching he had done, could not recognize the gift he had.

“Gettin cuddly with my man Kiyoomi?” Komori joined them a quarter hour later with drinks in hands. He set the glasses on the coffee table and sat on Sakusa’s free side, swinging his arms around him. Sakusa opened his eyes wide and took in the sight of the television and drinks. Leave it to Komori to interrupt his self-bruising thoughts. In their arms, he could feel no despair. His thoughts muted, swam to the back of his mind, and he thought only of Komori’s sun given smile and Iizuna’s caramelized eyes.

* * *

Osamu hadn’t seen Suna as soon as he had anticipated. He had expected the brunette with undeniable back problems to slouch in to Onigiri Miya the Sunday following Atsumu’s three star party, or the Monday after, but no, Suna didn’t come until the Thursday of that week. Osamu hadn’t forgotten about him no, but for as long as he didn’t see him, Suna had seemed more a concept than an actual solid existence. So much about Suna was unreal and it was less those odd eyes or hazy voice and more his mien, how he appeared so detached from reality and yet so perceptive. He was a contradiction, a stranger. When he did come walking into Onigiri Miya that Thursday, it had shaken the world around Osamu and shattered it. His gaze fixed on him, and Osamu had to consciously pull his eyes away from the jingling door and direct them back to the customer before his counter. He served five customers before Suna was standing in front of him, hands braced on the counter’s edge, shoulders tipped forward and head cocked to one side, a slight smile gracing his lips. There was a pair of black kitten headphones hanging about his neck, and the hood of his baggy red hoodie was sliding off. The first time he had come, he had showed up in the afternoon. It was late in the evening now, four p.m. Onigiri Miya only two hours away from closing. 

“Hi, welcome back,” Osamu said, and he was sure Suna was the only person to make him feel awkward wearing his own smile. 

“Good evening Osamu,” Suna greeted, voice spilling out in a sleepy purr, “Did you forget me?” 

“I remember,” Osamu shook his head bashfully, “Yer Suna.” Was this a peculiar conversation? 

“I’ve only showed up once and you already remember me by face,” Suna touched his hand to his heart, “I’m flattered.”

“It ain’t all that,” Osamu said, “D ya already know what’cha kinda want today?” 

“I was hoping you’d surprise me,” Suna said. 

“I can do that,” Osamu said. His smile felt more comfortable this time. Why did having free range over Suna’s meals make him so happy? Moreover, why on earth was he agreeing to his request? Osamu tended to avoid surprise orders since customers were pickier than they made themselves out to be and were apt to throw fits if the meals weren’t to their liking. 

“Thank you,” Suna didn’t linger like last time. There were customers behind him so he could not. He left the queue and settled at one of the little tables placed around the shop. He chose one by the window, dragging his laptop from the bag slung over his shoulder and pulling his kitten headphones over his head. Osamu grabbed another receptionist to see to the customers in line in the interest of making Suna’s order himself, and so he did. He brought a plate to Suna’s table, three okaka rice balls with a complimentary sweetened roll and a cool glass of mugicha. 

“Thank you,” Suna said, giving him a brief smile before returning to his typing. Osamu bowed and retreated to the front counter. As he took, prepared, and delivered orders alongside his fellow cooks, receptionists, and waiters, Osamu couldn’t keep Suna from his mind, especially since all he had to do was glance in one direction to catch a look at him. Suna was a hungry soul, having requested the same order once more. Osamu found that attractive. He appreciated appetite. After all he himself had the hunger of a mammoth. He wondered what Suna was doing on his laptop to keep him so absorbed. Was he a writer maybe? An artist? A photographer? Something creative for sure right? He had too many bodily expressions, such as his cute little snake bites and cleft heart tattoo, to not be of the creative sort. Time was syrup with Suna around, thick and sweet, and slow, but Osamu felt that his two hours passed him by too soon anyways. By the time the last customer left and Osamu had sent the staff home, Suna had not moved. Osamu ambled from behind the counter. He’d have to do something about that. 

“Scuse me,” Osamu approached Suna’s table. So engrossed in his computer, Suna hardly responded, fingers still working at the keyboard. Osamu tried again to no avail. “Hey,” he fit his fingers around Suna’s earlobe and gave a soft tug. _Fuck! Did I seriously just pull his ear?_ He jerked his hand back. It was habit he had gotten from the many days spent scolding Atsumu and Kita’s youngest. 

“Huh?” Suna started, hand coming up to his ear as he lifted his head at Osamu. “Something the matter?” 

“I’m sorry, but Onigiri Miya has closed,” Osamu said. Suna looked around as though examining Onigiri Miya for the first time. 

“Oh sorry,” he mumbled, catching sight of the few streams of afterglow streaking beneath the dusty eggplant sky, displayed lucidly out the window. He saved whatever he was working on and shut his laptop, tucking it into his bag and sitting his headphones around his neck. He rose to his feet with a stretch. Osamu winced at the cracks and screeches of Suna’s back and shoulders as he pulled his arms up and twisted his torso. Suna’s gaze swept the shop again. “Your staff didn’t do a good job cleaning,” he said, throwing his cross-body bag across his shoulder. 

“It’s not that,” Osamu relaxed his pose,hip jutting out, “I just have them do the kitchen. A lot of’m got families t go home to, So I don’t mind handlin the house since I don’t got a ton goin on at home.”

“Really? Know significant other and tiny children to go home to?” Suna asked. 

“Nope,” Osamu shook his head.

“What a Samaritan you are, not making your staff clean.” 

“I don’t mind. It ain’t too big a job.”

“Hmmm well,” Suna settled a hand under his chin, “You’re a pretty big guy so, I imagine getting the work done isn’t too hard. Still.” Osamu didn’t mis the foggy rise and fall of his voice, the way those lustrous green eyes climbed up and down his figure. 

“Should I help?” Suna asked.

“What?”

“Help you clean. I’ll wipe down everything while you sweep and mop. Sound okay?”

“Don’t you have places t be?” 

“Concert at eight thirty, but that’s all,” Suna shrugged. 

“I can’t ask ya t do that.” 

“Well, that’s why you didn’t ask. I did.” 

“That’s all right Suna.” 

“Now now Osamu. Let’s not be so humble hmm?” Suna leaned close, stared him straight in the eye, “What will you lose exactly, letting me help?”

“It’s not ... I can’t ...” Osamu couldn’t fish a proper protest. Something about Suna twirling his coffee colored hair over his fingers was unusually hypnotic. His close proximity and the heat emanating off his body was unusually hypnotic. Beyond that, Osamu just couldn’t think of anything plausible to counter his inquisition. “If ya want t,” he resigned with a curve of his shoulders. He fetched the cloths, broom, and mops from the storage closet and the pair got to work. Suna wasn’t one to speak unless spoken to, Osamu realized, as he swiveled the mop across the floor. Silence hung around them, a soft, not quite eery but not quite cozy stretch of silence that Osamu didn’t expect from the man whom seemed so loquacious upon first meeting. He hadn’t expected Suna to offer his service either. Bold move for a lazy person. Could he be _that_ interested in Osamu? And if so, why hadn’t he made any moves yet? And what did he mean by concert at eight thirty? Was he going to one or was he hosting one? What had him so fixated on his computer screen? Or maybe Osamu was nosy and read far too into things. That was believable. He paused, watching Suna wipe down one of the tabletops. He had a vigorous way of washing he did, his hoodie drawing taut at the shoulders from scrubbing the wood. He had nice shoulders, strong, broad shoulders that Osamu was curious about, how they looked beyond the fabric of that red hoodie, how they flexed when Suna reached. Goodness. Was he attracted to this guy? Osamu was most certain weirdo wasn’t his type. Atsumu was enough to deal with. Suna took notice to his scrutiny, halting his motions and turning in three quarters profile to hold Osamu’s gaze. God. Those hooded eyes pinned him in place, nailed his feet to the tile. Suna’s face was so sharp, so narrow, pulled in and unaffected by his tendrils of wild brown hair. He really did look like an animal, an animal bred for hunting, for stalking, for _killing._ Osamu never once felt like prey, but Suna’s discerning eyes, his dizzy smile, sure made him feel in danger. It was an allure Osamu could not comprehend. He understood many beats too long that Suna had caught him staring, which is why he was staring back. 

“Fuck,” he cursed. 

“Nice save dude,” Suna leaned back against the table, amused, one hand cocked on his hip, “You okay?” 

“‘M fine thanks,” Osamu said, splashes of crimson garnishing his cheeks. 

“Have something you wanna ask me, huh?” Suna asked. There was plenty Osamu wanted to ask him. Far too many questions to pester a person with and far too many he wasn’t sure how to vocalize. 

“I’m a little curious about what ya were workin on earlier,” Osamu said. That cover was miles better than the last. 

“Lyrical composition, plus a little bit of other stuff concerning chord progression. Answered a few emails from work, too,” Suna said easily. 

“Oh, ya like music,” Osamu said, more a discovery than a question. He had learned something about him. 

“Mhm,” Suna nodded. Life seemed to ignite in his body language as he spoke, “I’m a guitarist and secondary vocalist for a six man band called RFC Galaxy.” 

“Haven’t heard of y’all, but it sounds pretty damn cool,” Osamu said and meant it. “What kinda music d y’all do?” 

“We like to think we have a style all our own,” Suna said, “But I suppose we walk a shaky line between soul and soft rock, depending on whoever’s on song composition duty.”

“Oh yeah?” Osamu’s lips flickered in a grin, “Tell me bout yer band mates.” He went back to mopping as Suna ranted about the members of his band. The bland quiet of their cleaning was cured with Suna’s talk of his band, conversation bright with a passion Osamu didn’t know his slouchy acquaintance could exhibit. In just fifteen minutes, Osamu learned that Kuroo Tetsurou was their lead singer, a good and loyal friend but always buried in mischief with a soft spot for science and a random vendetta against matcha mochi. Nishinoya Yuu handled their saxophone, flute, and/or violin and had an affinity for spontaneous decisions and shitty alcohol. Suna also claimed he was only four feet and seven inches tall. Tanaka Ryuunosuke, drummer and golden retriever to everyone in the band, great with people, and apparently cars as well, with borderline short term memory loss and a prodigious passion for street food. Semi Eita, bassist, certified mom and nineties kid, whom thought himself aggressive but apparently was too chill for his own good, with a snuggle addiction. Finally Hoshiumi Kourai, pianist/keyboardist, a badminton birdie look alike, solid dude with the energy of someone half his age and a very expressed love for the beach. All of them liked to drink and all of them appreciated a good smoke or two. 

“Yer group sounds very chaotic,” Osamu said, flipping the shop sign to closed and locking the front doors. The evening was balmy and tender, Tokyo no less bustling then than it was now, with pedestrians and cars meandering below a murky lavender sky. 

“That’s a pretty good way to put it,” Suna followed Osamu down the sidewalk, “They’d probably scare off a timid little thing like you.”

“What? Ya think I’m timid?” Osamu gasped. 

“From what I’ve deduced so far, yes,” Suna said. This would make Osamu reevaluate his entire existence. 

“Care to walk me to the station, Mr. Osamu?” Suna crooned, definitely flirting now. Osamu didn’t. Suna was easy and difficult to talk to. He was dangerous and harmless, terrifying and friendly. He was a contradiction, and with contradiction always came issue. Though Osamu wasn’t sure _what,_ he was _certain_ he wanted naught to do with it. He was _uncertain_ if Suna was more than his surface, and quite _certain_ he didn’t want to look through his layers, regardless of his apathetic charm and enchant. He was _certain_ he didn’t want to indulge the interest his heart churned with because it lead to a place outside of his comfort zone. But Atsumu was the rude twin, mind you, and Osamu had a hard time not taking care of people.

“Sure,” he said.

“Cool,” Suna fell in step with Osamu as they headed in the direction of Shinagawa station. “I took my car last time i visited your corner, but this time I came straight from work, which I always take the train to so, I’m rideless.” 

“The fact that yer willin t drive through Tokyo durin the afternoon makes ya a criminal,” Osamu snorted. 

“You mean you take the train more than you drive your own car?” Suna asked. 

“Hell yes. Ya think I’m tryna kill myself in a car accident in those busy ass streets? Traffic’s a whole lot better down in Hyogo. I hate drivin here.”

Suna stuffed his hands in his pockets, sleepy laughter drifting from thin lips, “Such a by the book guy you are, Osamu.”  


It made Osamu feel warm, new, grounded, and swept away all at once. 

_Lord!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was kinda late. Life has been not so chill down in my corner. Despite what I advertise in the story, I am a wholehearted believer that Osamu is the shittier twin. He’s just quiet about his assholery. 
> 
> Headcanon time! Suna is the furthest thing from a rebel, despite he likes to pretend otherwise. He’s a good boy and his many piercings and tattoos represent facets of his emotional being, and they act as testaments to all the challenges he’s faced in life. The RFC in their band stands for Reflective, Fresh, and Conformless, but when Suna’s being silly, he likes to say it stands for Really Fuckin Cool. 
> 
> Izlee draws on Instagram recently uploaded a Komori piece, and an Osamu in a sailor costume sketch that I’m swooning over. Go eat some food and check it out. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves okay? Don’t forget to rest and eat. Always take time to breathe. Drop a kudos and comment if it isn’t too much trouble, and I’ll see you soon <3


End file.
